


Marble Halls

by darrowby85



Series: The Scenic Route [5]
Category: All Creatures Great and Small (TV), All Creatures Great and Small - James Herriot, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Lots of sarcastic banter, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-23 22:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15616083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darrowby85/pseuds/darrowby85
Summary: Tristan and the Doctor make a new acquaintance, take the repaired TARDIS on a test flight and have an adventure.A response to a writing prompt by a friend who requested a story with Tristan and the words 'marble' and 'silence', and an experiment in working with the premise of my AU to write a serious(ish) story.





	1. A Certain Sort of Young Woman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rochelle_Templer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan is intrigued when a mysterious young woman arrives in Darrowby.

Siegfried, Tristan and the Doctor were at the breakfast table when James came back from an early-morning calving.

“I’ve just seen Rolie Partridge out for a walk with Percy and a young woman,” he said. “I always saw him as rather a loner, and can’t really imagine him keeping company with women, especially not young ones.”

“Perhaps a late-blooming romance,” said Siegfried. “On his part, at least. I can imagine a certain sort of young woman being attracted to the artistic type.”

Tristan was intrigued by this, as by any local gossip and goings-on. He was determined to investigate what the _certain sort of young woman_ who took up with Rolie might be like.

Siegfried went on to explain to the Doctor that Rolie was an artist (“rather _avant-garde_ , probably a little too much for a place like Darrowby, really”). The Doctor, now fully recovered, had so quickly become a fixture at Skeldale that Siegfried kept forgetting that he hadn’t always been part of the household. Often, the Doctor’s lively intelligence, honed by years of working out the sociodynamics of alien civilisations, pieced together what was going on before Siegfried had even realised that an explanation was required.

Breakfast over, the Doctor and Tristan went out to the paddock to continue their repairs on the TARDIS. Tristan managed to find a number of pressing reasons – tea-breaks, toilet-breaks, an apparent conviction that he was the only one in the household capable of correctly answering the telephone – to go around the side of the house, from which he had a clear view of Rolie’s cottage. The Doctor continued his maintenance work without commenting on the frequency of these absences. Eventually, Tristan’s persistence was rewarded. Rolie came out of the house, together with his small white terrier Percy and the mysterious woman.

“Hello, Mr. Partridge! Good to see you,” said Tristan, crossing over to greet them.

“Hello, Mr Farnon. This is my niece, Vera. She’s studying at art school down in London, but has come up here to work with me during her summer vacation. Vera, this is Tristan Farnon, a final-year veterinary student who works at his brother’s practice across the road.” Rolie had the tact not to mention for exactly how many years Tristan had been a final-year student.

“Following in your uncle’s footsteps, then,” said Tristan, even more intrigued now that it was clear that the young woman was not romantically involved with the artist. He gave her the most charming smile in his arsenal and looked at her for as long as politeness allowed. Vera bore a certain family resemblance to Rolie, including the round, wire-rimmed glasses (he laughed at himself for the thought that wire-rimmed glasses could run in families), but her hair was darker than Rolie’s and gathered up in a loose bun.

“Yes, despite everyone’s best efforts to discourage me,” she said. “They’ve been trying to convince me that sewing, typing or cooking would be a safer bet, and they may well be right, but I thought that I had to give it a try. I work evenings at a Lyon’s Corner House waiting on and cleaning, and they’ve said that they will take me on full-time if art school doesn’t work out.”  She spoke with what had once been a northern accent that had been schooled by years of education into some approximation to received pronunciation.

“What sort of things do you paint?” asked Tristan, wishing for the first time in his life that he knew more about art. “Are you interested in abstract art and that sort of thing?”

“Oh, no,” laughed Vera. “I’m actually very conventional. Landscapes, portraits. I don’t go quite as far as to paint kittens and roses for chocolate-boxes, but I am planning to do a series of views of the Dales.”

“Well, I often have to drive out there on calls, so if you need a lift to some scenic spot, do let me know and I’d be happy to oblige,” said Tristan. It would be interesting to spend time with someone so different from the usual nurses and farmers’ daughters – someone, perhaps, more _bohemian_. (Tristan wasn’t entirely sure what being 'bohemian’ entailed, but had a vague impression of late nights, loose-fitting clothes and unconventional domestic arrangements.)

“That would be very kind, wouldn’t it, Uncle?” said Vera, giving Tristan the most charming smile in _her_ arsenal.

It was then that the Doctor came around the side of the house at a jog. “Tristan!” he called, “Could you come and help me with something?” He showed absolutely no surprise at finding Tristan in conversation with two people who were clearly the older man and younger woman alluded to at breakfast.

“Is this your twin brother?” asked Vera. Rolie, who knew that Tristan had no twin brother, just stared, forgetting his usually punctilious manners in his shock.

“Umm, no, it’s a little more complicated than that,” said Tristan, wondering where to start with the explanation.

“Hello, how do you do,” said the Doctor, who had now reached the little group. He held out his hand to Vera. “I’m the Doctor.”

***

“But it’s bigger on the inside!”

Vera’s day had been full of surprises. First, she had met a young man who looked as if he had stepped straight out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting, with a name to match. She had certainly not envisaged meeting any _Tristans_ in this part of the world; based on her uncle’s description, she had expected it to be the preserve of weatherbeaten Georges and Joes.

Vera’s previous experience with attractive young men had led her to the reluctant conclusion that, for all their charming smiles and good manners, they were ultimately far more interested either in young women who were prettier than she was, or possibly in other attractive young men, than they were in the likes of her. Tristan, however, seemed genuinely eager to get to know her.

She had just begun to adjust to this new and intriguing development when someone who looked like Tristan’s identical twin came dashing around the corner. Dressed in an incongruous combination of a frock-coat, cricket whites and what looked like pyjama bottoms, he nonetheless had an air of moral authority. Understandably enough, Vera had found the explanations about travels in space and time hard to believe. Tristan, with a proprietorial pride that caused the Doctor to grin in amusement, had invited her to spend the afternoon inspecting the TARDIS.

After overcoming her initial surprise at the dimensions and futuristic look of the console room, Vera spent the afternoon sitting on a small wicker stool making sketches of the equipment and of the Doctor and Tristan as they worked. “I’m not sure how I am going to explain these back in London,” she said. “Perhaps I could make a career as an illustrator of fantastical literature, krakens and bathyscaphes and colonies on Mars. And time-travelling doppelgängers! I don’t think they would believe the reality.”

***

“I’m going for a drink with Siegfried and James this evening,” announced the Doctor, as they finished work for the day. “I believe you’re on call, Tristan. Siegfried has said that I can borrow some of your clothes to help me blend in a little more. Then we can chat in peace without having to answer too many questions from – what did you say his name was – Gobber Newhouse?”

Tristan looked aggrieved. “He might have asked me first!”

“Tristan, the TARDIS is in a delicate state at the moment. I’ve been very grateful for your help up to now, but you’re not to touch anything while I’m away,” said the Doctor, sweeping out.

Tristan pouted, clearly disgruntled that the Doctor had demonstrated his lack of trust in his TARDIS-mending abilities in front of Vera. But Vera, realisation dawning, began to laugh.

“Tristan, you silly old thing,” she said. “Don’t you see that the Doctor has engineered things so that you and I can spend the evening together? That’s if you want to invite me, of course. We’ll have to stay at Skeldale, but when it gets dark we can go out into the back garden and you can point out to me the stars that you’ve visited.”

***

Tristan and Vera were curled up together on the Skeldale living-room sofa, drowsy and contented after sharing sherry, a few kisses and the stories of their lives thus far. On the coffee-table lay a series of sketches. Most were of Tristan; after she had managed to convince him to ‘just look normal’ rather than striking mock-heroic attitudes, Vera had succeeded in capturing several likenesses with which she was reasonably pleased. A few of the drawings were Tristan’s sketches of Vera, made under her tutelage. Although he had had no formal artistic education, his veterinary studies had trained him in the skills of observation and Vera was impressed at how well his first attempts had turned out.

“I suppose you’d better go before Siegfried finds you here,” said Tristan, lazily reaching out an arm and gathering the sketches together. “Even though the Doctor expressly told me not to work on the TARDIS, Siegfried might think that the time would have been better spent cramming for my finals.”

“And instead you spent it acting as a model and learning how to draw.”

“Indeed,” said Tristan. “Good old Doctor.”

Vera suddenly became serious. “I really don’t want to interrupt your studies, you know. I hope you haven’t taken the night off from studying on my account.”

Tristan smiled, somewhat bitterly “No, not on your account. I was fonder of lounging on the sofa than studying long before I knew you. Look at me, telling you everything instead of making myself out to be some kind of model student! I think my brother is hoping that the Doctor will be a good influence on me and encourage me to be more industrious.”

“The Doctor really is jolly decent, isn’t he? And very clever, too.”

“Much cleverer than me, and better in every respect. I suspect that my brother already sees him as a superior version of me. Don’t you go falling in love with him instead, will you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rolie Partridge appears in both the All Creatures Great and Small TV series (in S02E08 "Pride of Possession") and a chapter of the James Herriot books. The series interprets his character somewhat differently from the book, making him into a rather misunderstood, avant-garde artist. In the book, his painting is more conventional.


	2. A Wide Range of Interesting Fragrances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My usual form of exercise is running away from creatures who want to kill me. And cricket. I prefer cricket, all things considered.”

“My usual form of exercise is running away from creatures who want to kill me. And cricket. I prefer cricket, all things considered.”

“Hmmm. Well, you seem in very good shape for someone who is, what did you say, several hundred years old. A fine figure of a man. I would have had you down as about thirty. If it weren’t for the double heartbeat, I would have suspected that this was one of young Mr. Farnon’s pranks. A very lively sense of humour, he has. If a little bizarre on occasion.”

“So it appears. But you don’t think there’s any cause for concern?”

“About his sense of humour, quite possibly. About your state of health, not at all, as far as I can gather. Of course, I know nothing about the biology of your, er, species, and I’m just extrapolating from what I know of my fellow men, but you seem to be fully recovered from the influenza-like illness you described, and the slight lethargy you report may be down to your becoming too, shall we say, comfortable. And possibly just a little overindulgence in Mrs. Hall’s cakes, which is entirely understandable. She’s an excellent cook. Perhaps what you need most of all is to get back to your life of high adventure.”

“That’s as I suspected. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Doctor. It’s always a pleasure to broaden my knowledge. I’ve enjoyed this little chat. You’d be most welcome to come round for tea any afternoon.”

“Without cake, I assume?”

“Well, we doctors don’t always practice what we preach, do we?” said Dr. Allinson with a conspiratorial wink.

***

James was surprised to see a young woman following the Doctor into the Skeldale living-room.

“Siegfried, would you mind very much if my young friend joins us for lunch?" He introduced Vera to James and Siegfried. "We’ve both been working hard this morning and I’m afraid we quite lost track of time”

“Certainly, Doctor,” said Siegfried. “A pleasure to meet you, my dear,” he said to Vera, taking her hand and giving her his most charming smile. “Tristan seems to have been held up at Micklethwaites’, so you can have his place.”

James had listened patiently in the Drovers' the previous evening as Tristan had told him, enthusiastically and at length, about this new object of his affections. Business as usual, James had thought, trying conscientiously to nod in the right places and make encouraging comments even though he had heard it all so many times before. This time, _of course_ , it was different; it was true love. As it had been all the other times. Tristan, for all his laziness in other aspects, seemed to live his emotional life with an intensity that James, even as a passive observer, found exhausting. Nonetheless, it would be a shame for poor Triss if Siegfried did his usual trick of turning his nonchalant charm onto this girl and making her fall for him instead. It had happened several times before, and although Siegfried had sometimes deployed his attractions deliberately, much of the time he had appeared oblivious to his effect on the female of the species. With the usual sort of girl who went to dances with Tristan, it probably wouldn’t have mattered all that much; he seemed to have an endless supply of nurses from up at the hospital and Siegfried was not usually especially interested in any of them. But this didn't seem like the usual sort of girl, and according to what Tristan had told him, things had already progressed rather well between the two of them.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Farnon,” said Vera. “My uncle and your brother have been telling me about your practice here.” She didn’t look or sound to James as if she had become an immediate victim of Siegfried’s powers of attraction, the typical symptoms being blushing, simpering and a sudden onset of inarticulacy. Instead, her tone seemed pleasantly interested and businesslike. Perhaps Triss still had a chance, after all.

As the meal went on, James began to feel less confident on behalf of his friend. When the Doctor was talking about some of his past adventures, Vera listened to him with what looked to James like rapt attention and deep admiration. Poor old Tristan – when it wasn’t his own brother who was upstaging him, it was a traveller from outer space who looked like his more dashing but otherwise identical twin and who had no interest whatsoever, as far as James could tell, in acquiring admirers. The Doctor, with his gentle, polite manners and friendly enthusiasm, was almost impossible to dislike, unless you were one of the cosmic tyrants whose dastardly schemes he regularly thwarted. From what James had heard of his adventures, it seemed as if he had a tendency to pick up around him a small group of orphaned or otherwise bereft young people from various corners of the universe, caring for them with a kind of disinterested benevolence. James really couldn’t imagine him engaging in anything as self-indulgent as a love-affair, although he could quite easily imagine him unwittingly and entirely innocently leaving a trail of unrequited admirers behind him.

Much as he enjoyed the Doctor’s company, James had begun to feel that it would be best for Tristan if he were to resume his travels in space and time. Quite apart from any adverse effects on Tristan’s romantic prospects, James had also noticed that Siegfried had begun to treat the Doctor in a friendly, fraternal sort of way, but with the respect that he usually didn’t extend to his brother. It seemed only a matter of time until Siegfried made an overtly unfavourable comparison between his brother and the Doctor and provoked an unpleasant episode.

It was at this point that Tristan entered the room, his face and clothes liberally smeared with some brownish-green and unpleasant-smelling substance. James could see him running through various deductive processes after noticing that Vera was sitting at the table.

“Umm, hello, Vera. I’m afraid you don’t really see me to my best advantage. I’ve just had a rather difficult time with a sow…”

“Tristan! What is that dreadful stench? Clear out of here and clean yourself up! Can’t you see that we have a lady visitor?” said Siegfried.

Vera looked up from the table and smiled at Tristan. “I suppose that anyone living with veterinary surgeons has to get used to a wide range of interesting fragrances. Hasn’t that been your experience, Doctor?”

“Indeed,” said the Doctor, “although I have to say that compared with some of the species I have experienced on my travels, any substances and smells produced by the animals in Yorkshire seem very innocuous.”

“And it’s not just veterinary practice. Anyone who wanted to throw his lot in with me would probably have to be able to tolerate the smell of turpentine and linseed oil.” She smiled at Tristan, who had still not cleared out of there.

“Ah, linseed oil,” said the Doctor. “A delightful aroma. Redolent of cricket matches on long summer evenings.”

“I suppose I could make accommodations for someone with a very sensitive sense of smell, and paint only in watercolours.”

“If I’ve understood the culture of the current era correctly, that would be perceived as being a very ladylike pursuit,” said the Doctor, “but perhaps not as cutting-edge and avant-garde as painting in certain other media.”

“I’ve never really aspired to be terribly cutting-edge,” said Vera.

“Novelty for its own sake is, in my opinion, rather overrated,” said the Doctor.

James grinned, realising that this double-act was being performed for Tristan’s benefit.

“Tristan,” said the Doctor, “do go and clean up and join us! Although I’ve dealt with far worse smells in the past, I’d much rather talk to you here at the table. The repairs to the TARDIS really are almost finished now, and I’d like to tell you about my plans for our test flight!”


	3. Not Quite A Museum Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where in space and time would you like to go?”

“Where in space and time would you like to go?”

“The Renaissance or Ancient Greece,” said Vera. “Or somewhere beautiful on another planet.”

“The time of the dinosaurs,” said Tristan.

A cloud passed over the Doctor’s usually sunny countenance as he heard this and his hearts felt a twinge of pain, but he pushed away his regretful feelings and forced his face into a smile.

“James and I have a little game to liven things up when they get dull,” continued Tristan. “We imagine that we’re vets in the prehistoric world, treating herds of brontosaurus rather than cows. It’s a little silly, but it cheers us up and relieves the monotony on cold winter mornings. I suppose, Doctor, that if you’ve been travelling through space and time for several hundred years, you’ve probably developed some strategies for relieving boredom too.”

“One would think so,” said the Doctor, “but it seems that there is always someone chasing and attempting to kill or imprison me, and failing that, there's cricket and books, so I rarely seem to suffer from boredom.”

***

The TARDIS made a noise that was somewhat more grating than its usual “Vworp” and came to a halt.

“Hmm, perhaps that still needs a little more oil, don’t you think?” said the Doctor. “In any case, we have arrived. Tristan, open the viewscreen, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Tristan pressed the button and the shutter slid up, gradually unveiling a woodland scene of tall, straight trees and dappled shade.

“Did you know that the Greeks originally worshipped in sacred groves? The columns of their temples were based on the trunks of trees. They saw the way the light fell through the leaves in clearings as numinous. Plato’s Academy was situated in an olive grove. A similar phenomenon can be observed in many other religious traditions – Japanese Shinto, for example.”

“Yes, Professor,” said Tristan, with a naughty smile. “I thought we were supposed to be on holiday here.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Vera, rather primly. “I’m planning to learn as much as possible about the Greeks and their art and architecture from this trip. And I’m very grateful for anything that you can teach me about them.” She smiled sweetly at the Doctor.

“I am, too, of course,” said Tristan. “That was just a joke, as I’m sure you realised. There’s nothing better than improving one’s mind. The eternal student, that’s me!”

The Doctor raised his blond eyebrows eloquently but refrained from commenting.

“As we’re only observing and wish to avoid getting involved, I think it best for us to try to blend in as much as possible, by dressing in garments that are appropriate to the era. Vera, please could you go to the TARDIS wardrobe and try to find some? The old girl is usually pretty good at sorting out something suitable.”

***

The three time-travellers stepped out of the TARDIS. On one side of them, the wood extended, cool and shady. On the other, they could see golden sunlight through the gaps between the trees. They made their way out to the edge of the wood and out into the noonday sun. The sky was cloudless and deep blue. A thin, light yellow dust coated their sandals as they walked. The air was rich with the aroma of thyme, marjoram and other herbs overlaid on the fresh, salty scent of the sea. Ahead of them were buildings of white stone and, set on a hill in the distance, the magnificent temple of Athene.

“Here we are!” said the Doctor. “The cradle of democracy and of so much of your continent’s culture.”

“And the reason I had to sit through hours of Ancient Greek at school,” said Tristan.

Vera looked enviously at him. “I wish we had had the chance to do that,” she said.

“It was really very dull, and our Greek master must have been at least a hundred years old. They probably found him in the antiquities section of the British Museum. Possibly wrapped in bandages.”

“Mind what you’re saying, Tristan. The Doctor is also very old.”

“Oh, yes, sorry, Doctor. Didn’t mean to cause offence. I do forget - you only look a couple of years older than me!”

“Good to know that you’re not considering me a museum piece quite yet,” said the Doctor. “Now, let’s see the sights of Athens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference to James and Tristan's game in which they pretend to be dinosaur vets comes from Jim Wight's excellent biography of his father Alf Wight (pen name James Herriot) "The Real James Herriot". I think it's a great pity that this wasn't featured in the Herriot books or the TV series, because it really shows the strength of the friendship between Alf ("James") and Brian Sinclair ("Tristan") and the fun they had in each other's company.


	4. A Bird of Passage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is my humble belief, my lord, that this is a visitation by the Dioskouroi.”

“It is my humble belief, my lord, that this is a visitation by the Dioskouroi.”

“And what leads you to this conclusion?”

“One of my men reported that he had seen strangers about the city. I sent him back to confront them and ask them to state their purpose here, fearing that they could be foreign spies. The one who appeared to be the leader said that they were wanderers who wished to visit and learn from us and hoped that they might be permitted to walk freely about the city. When my man asked them whence they had come, the other stranger told him that they had come from _Bretannikē_. Since it is well known that the people of that country are barbarians and simple in habits, this is scarcely to be believed. The three strangers appear civilised and cultured and dress and speak as we do.

“I sent my man back to question them more forcefully and threaten them with confinement if they did not speak the truth. This time, the leader said that he was ancient in years and travelled among the stars, but that the other man and the woman were son and daughter of mortals. When I heard this, I wondered what madness had come amongst us, and told my man to bring the strangers before me. I was ready to have them punished and thrown out of the city for mocking the dignity of Athens with such fantastical fabrications.”

“And what changed your mind?”

“When they stood before me, the two men were identical in appearance. The traveller among the stars and the son of mortals. They are blond-haired, fair-complexioned and well-favoured, as they are described in our writings. I believe that they are none other than Castor and Polydeuces, who have come across the seas, riding the white waves, to honour us with their presence.”

***

“My name is Philoxenos and I am one of the archons of this city. I do apologise most humbly for the lack of hospitality that was shown to you when you first arrived. It was a very regrettable violation of our usual ways and customs. Sadly, our city has enemies and we must always be on our guard. I bid you welcome to Athens, and invite you all to a feast at my home this evening.”

“That is extremely kind of you,” said the Doctor. “You really don’t need to go to any trouble on our account. We merely wished to visit your city and study your ways. Just think of us as, let us say, birds of passage.”

“Nonetheless, esteemed Doctor, you and your associates would honour us greatly by attending our feast.”

***

The dining-room was richly decorated, with intricate mosaics on the floor and couches on which the host and his guests reclined. The Doctor was in deep and animated discussion with Philoxenos and his companions about the merits and demerits of different systems of government. He wore the garland of wild celery leaves with which he had been adorned, along with Tristan and Vera, on their arrival. Vera watched their discussion intently, wishing she had her sketchbook with her and trying to commit every detail to memory. As the evening had progressed and more wine had been drunk, she and Tristan had found themselves on the periphery, unable to contribute to the discussion, while the Athenians eagerly questioned and debated with the Doctor. Tristan tapped Vera on the shoulder.

“Had enough? I’m feeling a little squiffy after all that wine, aren’t you? And I’m gasping for a Woodbine. I left them in the TARDIS. Do you think it would alter the future if I smoked one?”

“If you contrived to plant tobacco seeds here, I suppose you could save Sir Walter Raleigh a job,” said Vera. “But I think the city gates will be closed by now so we won’t be able to get back to the TARDIS. It would be nice to get some air, though. I don’t think they would miss us if we slipped out for a while.”

As they left, the Doctor shot them a look that seemed to signify “please do try not to get into any trouble”.

***

Outside, in the warm, herb-scented evening, the neighbouring households were settling down for the night and faint oil lights were being extinguished. They made their way along the road to a quieter part of the city. The great temple was just visible on the hill, its marble columns seeming to glow white in the deep twilight. Around them, all was silence; above them was a vast canopy of stars.

Vera slipped her arm through Tristan’s. He looked down at her, bewildered.

“Umm, is your arm cold?” he asked. “I actually thought it was rather warm tonight, myself. More so than Yorkshire, anyway. I suppose it would be, being further south and all that. But I have heard it said that women feel the cold more than we men do and…”

“Tristan.”

“Yes?”

“This is the first time we’ve been alone together since that evening. I’m not sure how long ago it was. This time-travelling makes things very confusing.” She removed her arm and took both his hands.

“I didn’t know… I didn’t think…. I mean, I’ve seen you looking at _him_. As if he’s the most wonderful thing you’ve ever seen. And why wouldn’t you? He’s kind and clever and brave…”

“And very handsome, like you” said Vera, looking intently into Tristan’s face. “Yes, he’s wonderful. I admire him very much and I want to learn everything I can from him. But you’re wonderful, too. Spending all that time studying so that you will be able to help sick animals and their owners….”

Tristan immediately began to imagine himself staying up all night saving an animal of Vera’s that had previously been abandoned as a hopeless case. “Well, I do try,” he said.

“And you can be very romantic,” said Vera, “when you put your mind to it.”

Tristan responded to this by putting an arm around her shoulder and Vera leant her head against him.

“I wonder whether he has the same sort of feelings that we do,” said Tristan. “He seems to keep a pretty tight lid on them, if he does. As he says, he’s a bird of passage. He’s hundreds of years old and he travels around for all that time, visiting places for a while and then having to leave. Perhaps he avoids making any attachments because it would be too painful.”

“It must be a rather lonely life,” agreed Vera.

“There are so many stars visible from here, far more than even in the remotest parts of the Dales. Do you know the constellations? Siegfried and a friend of his taught me them when I was small. There’s the Plough in Ursa Major, of course, and that one up there is Leo, and those two bright ones there are Castor and Pollux in Gemini.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some historical notes:
> 
> 1\. [Pytheas of Massalia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pytheas), an Ancient Greek explorer, visited Britain (Bretannikē) and claimed that the inhabitants were "of simple manners".
> 
> 2\. An [archon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archon) is one of the holders of public office in a city. In Athens, at varying times in the city's history they were either elected or appointed by lot. I've kept the chronological setting of this story deliberately vague, and the archon Philoxenos is fictional.
> 
> 3\. I didn't entirely make up the celery garland! Wreaths of celery were awarded to the winners of the Nemean Games, and guests at banquets were presented with garlands, so I didn't think it was too big a stretch of the imagination to have our heroes garlanded with celery.
> 
> 4\. One anachronistic element, however, is that Ancient Greek households were strongly segregated by gender, and 'respectable' women, as opposed to female slaves and entertainers, would not attend banquets. I hope that in a story whose basic premise is ridiculous, my readers will indulge just a little anachronism.
> 
> 5\. Tobacco seeds were not, in fact, introduced to Europe by Sir Walter Raleigh but by a less well-known Spanish explorer, Hernández de Boncalo.


	5. The Varieties of Mornings After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They told me something terribly important, something that troubled me deeply. I must – try – to remember…”

“I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls…” Vera could hear Tristan singing softly in the courtyard as he walked towards where she was sitting. It was one of his most endearing habits, this tendency to break into song on the flimsiest of pretexts. He had a pleasant light tenor singing voice and a seemingly inexhaustible repertoire of show-tunes to match any occasion. 

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” said Vera, taking his hand. Tristan looked around, ascertained that no-one was watching and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I dreamt sweet dreams of you,” he said. “Actually, I didn’t. I was out like a light. Wine, women and song are clearly good for me.”

“Women?” said Vera, with a mock-disapproving expression.

“Wom _an_. I have eyes only for you, my sweet.” He gave her his most charming smile. 

“I suppose you say that to all your girlfriends.”

“You malign me.” 

“Where’s the Doctor?” asked Vera.

“I haven’t seen him so far. He has the room next to mine. Shall we go and see if he’s awake?”

They called him softly and, receiving no reply, went into the room. The celery garland lay, somewhat tattered and wilted, on a small table beside the bed. On the bed itself was a rumpled, inelegant pile of covers. Somewhere deep within it, with only one hand and a little hair showing, was the Doctor.

“Doctor?”

“Mmmhhh.”

“It’s morning.”

“Urgghhh.” Another groan, at a slightly different pitch from the first.

Tristan and Vera exchanged puzzled looks. The Doctor was was usually an enthusiastic advocate of early mornings, vigorous country walks, fresh air and other wholesome things that were approved of by of society in general and schoolmasters in particular, and therefore inflicted on unfortunates such as Tristan, whose constitution objected in the strongest possible terms to these impositions.

“Doctor? Are you all right?” Tristan tapped him gently on the shoulder.

“Mmmhhh.” The Doctor turned over, pushed back the covers, winced and looked at them through heavy-lidded, unfocused eyes, a rather tragic expression on his face.

It’s odd, thought Tristan. He looks just the way I feel the morning after a heavy night at the Drovers’. In fact, he looks very much how I do when I look in the mirror on those mornings…

The Doctor reached one hand into his tousled hair, grabbed a handful of it and ruffled it as if this would help him bring his wits into some kind of order.

“We had a rather long and, um, detailed discussion last night,” he said at length. “Sadly I have very little recollection of what we actually talked about. It’s all rather, ah, hazy. But it was so interesting at the time that I, er, neglected to pay attention to how often they were filling my wine cup. I don’t usually react _quite_ this badly to alcohol. Perhaps there was, ah, something in the food that had adverse effects on my constitution.” He rubbed the back of his head again. “They told me something terribly important, something that troubled me deeply. I must – try – to remember…”

“You need a cup of coffee, Doctor. It’s the best thing by far for getting the old grey matter firing on all cylinders, particularly when you’re feeling a little on the delicate side. Absolutely the cat’s pyjamas, in my humble opinion. It’s only a shame that it won’t be available in Europe for a couple of millennia. I wonder how they managed in the mornings without it. I could go back to the TARDIS and get some for you. We could even teach the Greeks how to cultivate it. Perhaps it could speed up human progress. We might have space-flight by the 1930s…”

The Doctor gave Tristan a look that seemed to say “Your irritatingly cheerful prattling is making me feel as if a team of carpenters has come to rearrange all the fixtures and fittings in my head. If you have any affection whatsoever for me and any concern at all for my well-being, do be quiet, _please_.” Of course, he didn’t actually say that, because the effort of retrieving all the necessary words from his mental dictionary and placing them in the right order hurt his brain far too much. He hoped that the sentiment would be conveyed eloquently enough with another moan.

“Ssshh, Tristan,” said Vera, whose knowledge of the varieties of mornings-after experienced by the humanoid male had been greatly expanded by attendance at 9 o'clock painting classes at art college. (The general rule was, just smile sympathetically and do not even attempt conversation until after the first tea-break.)

“How can I have forgotten?” the Doctor berated himself. “That’s the trouble with being a Time Lord, there’s so much to remember and only one small head to put it all in(*). Think! Think!”

“Oh!” he said presently, sitting upright with a start and adopting a different type of anguished expression. “It’s all come back to me! They think we’re Castor and Pollux, and they want our help.”

 

***

“I’ve found, in my _extensive_ experience, that panic is really rather effective in helping one shake off minor indispositions.”

“Hmm, it never seems to work for me,” said Tristan. “Although, to be fair, it usually isn’t me doing the panicking at the time. It’s mostly the telephone ringing and Siegfried bellowing at me to answer it, neither of which make one feel particularly full of vim and vigour and eagerness to greet the new day.”

“Well, you know, early to bed and early to rise, as they say. A healthy mind in a healthy body and all that.”

“Hmm, yes, quite.” Tristan grinned. With the arm that was not around the Doctor’s shoulders, he reached across, detached another of the less wilted parts of the celery garland and held it out it to the Doctor, who took a bite.

“This is also working wonderfully well as a restorative. Not quite as good as Gallifreyan celery, but eminently fit for purpose. And in any case,” he said, his voice becoming a little higher. “It wasn’t _necessarily_ the wine that had this, um, _adverse_ _effect_. Certain substances that are harmless to humans can provoke unexpected reactions in the Time Lord constitution. Some of our biochemists have studied this phenomenon in detail, but it’s impractical to carry a list of all their publications on the subject around with one all the time. Particularly when one is wearing…” he looked down disapprovingly at his rather flimsy tunic “…a garment without any pockets in it.”

“Are you feeling better now?” asked Tristan, affectionately.

“Very much better, thank you. And now we must address ourselves to the problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Tristan sings can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQm1rsLvD08). It comes from "The Bohemian Girl", an 1843 opera by Michael William Balfe, a [film version of which, starring Laurel and Hardy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bohemian_Girl_\(1936_film\)), was released in 1936. The song was also famously recorded by [Enya](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHpLjdU_T7c&list=PLAcaKbjE_kWDsCbf2UOfc0eepSfUxHBK2&index=10) on her album "Shepherd Moons", and has always been rather a favourite of mine.
> 
> The line "That’s the trouble with being a Time Lord, there’s so much to remember and only one small head to put it all in" is from a deleted scene from _Frontios_. I liked it so much, and thought it such a shame that it wasn't included in the final _Frontios_ serial, that I just had to put it in here.


End file.
